


Before the Morning Sun

by HakureiRyuu



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Missing Scene, the interlude aboard Mara's ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28032666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HakureiRyuu/pseuds/HakureiRyuu
Summary: Even as enemies, Adora has been and always will be Catra’s number one priority, her only light in the sky. But Catra was never Adora’s. Adora had an entire panorama of beauty and love surrounding her ‒ still does. Every step she takes reflects it like a prism, casting light everywhere in a thousand colors, and Catra had to fight tooth and claw to claim even a part of it. To be even a piece of her sky.Adora still turned away, no matter how brightly Catra tried to shine. It was never good enough, and Catra couldn’t escape that fact, that hurt, no matter how far or how fast she ran. Now... now there’s nowhere left to go.-This is a story about forgiveness.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 95





	Before the Morning Sun

_ Once I was twenty years old, my story got told _   
_ Before the morning sun, when life was lonely _

‒

The first time Catra saw the stars, really looked at them properly, it was aboard Horde Prime’s ship.They were beautiful, tiny pinpricks against the endless night, and she hated it. The stars, the misty galaxies, the entire overfull sky. All of it was awful. Breathtaking and perfect and  _ wrong. _

From aboard Adora’s ancient, rusted amalgamation of First One’s tech that somehow still has the nerve to call itself a spaceship, the view is significantly less loathsome. Catra’s not thinking about why that is.

She perches on a relatively buttonless stretch of dashboard in the cavernous bridge room. The lights are out for the night ‒ what they have collectively decided to call night, at least ‒ and the faint light of the stars casts Catra’s face half in shadow. 

_ Darla, _ she has decided,  _ is a stupid name for a ship. _

It's an easy judgement call to make, really.

A whole lot easier than trying to process everything else.

It started with little things. Bow offering her an extra dumpling that first night, Glimmer digging up actual clothes for her to wear, Entrapta asking if she needed room for her ears in a space helmet. Dumb little considerations that, while not unheard of in the Horde, were typically restricted to within a given squadron. If someone had a problem, the only thing you could do to help was pretend not to notice. Even Scorpia knew that ‒ to some extent, anyway.

Damn, no wonder Scorpia never belonged there. Catra, though... Catra fit right in.

Adora's different from how she was in the Horde, is the thing. Catra caught it early enough, over the years, this subtle but drastic shift in Adora's priorities during combat. She'd been quick to exploit it, then. Called it weakness. Pretended it was some unsavory behavior that had rubbed off on Adora from hanging out with princesses all the time.

It wasn't true, of course. Adora has always been stupidly heroic, willing to risk the war just to win the battle. Sacrifice her safety for another's well-being. But that kind of thinking only applied to the Horde as a whole, they were taught. Not to individuals, cogs in the machine.

_ (more than once, adora stepped between catra and shadow weaver a bit too confidently, a bit too righteously. catra was punished even worse until adora learned not to interfere.) _

Adora never changed, exactly. This is just what she becomes when left alone, allowed to flourish without oppressive influences holding her back. Hordak, Shadow Weaver...

Catra.

She curls tighter around herself, claws piercing skin.

She told herself Adora was doing it for the praise. But no, that's Catra who does that ‒ Catra who grubs for attention and affection from superiors, Catra who treats any kindness or support from her peers as attempts to tear her down, Catra who abandons everything else to focus on a singular thing that matters.

Lots of things can matter to Adora. Catra  _ has _ to accept it as fact now, even though she still can’t understand it. 

_ (catra is maybe only ten percent sure that "you matter to  _ me _!" were actual true words that left adora's mouth. it really doesn't track though, so she's more inclined to put it down as a wistful fantasy, a dying wish for a girl barely treading water in her own mind.) _

Catra stands in a rush of nervous energy. She wants to run, but there’s nowhere to go.

So she walks. She remembers the layout of the ship well enough, from that glorious few days where she reigned supreme over the Crimson Wastes. Catra once lounged in that very chair like it was a throne, watching the bustling crowds enjoying themselves and roughhousing and throwing her wicked smiles ‒ 

She reaches the narrow hall where she had dragged Scorpia away, breathless with an unfamiliar feeling bubbling brightly in her chest. 

_ “We could just... be happy.” _

Catra snarls, angry for reasons she can barely even describe to herself. Because  _ this _ has always been the problem.  _ This _ is what has always held her back her entire fucking life. 

_ “Goodbye, Adora. I really am going to miss you.” _

It’s what made her drag the edge of a sword along that last tether, but she failed to cut this feeling from her body.

_ “I won’t let you win. I’d rather see the whole world destroyed than let that happen!” _

It’s what made her drop herself off a crumbling precipice into oblivion, but she failed to drive the thought from her mind.

_ “I thought winning would be different.” _

It’s what made her burn every bridge she ever had, but she failed to quench the longing in her heart.

Even as enemies, Adora has been and always will be Catra’s number one priority, her only light in the sky. But Catra was never Adora’s. Adora had an entire panorama of beauty and love surrounding her ‒ still does. Every step she takes reflects it like a prism, casting light everywhere in a thousand colors, and Catra had to fight tooth and claw to claim even a part of it. To be even a piece of her sky.

Adora still turned away, no matter how brightly Catra tried to shine. It was never good enough, and Catra couldn’t escape that fact, that hurt, no matter how far or how fast she ran. Now... now there’s nowhere left to go. 

Tears pricking at her eyes, Catra curls up in a corner and waits for morning. Then she remembers that morning doesn’t exist out here. She doesn’t know what she’s waiting for.

‒

“What are you doing?” Catra asks, despite herself.

Entrapta doesn’t slide out from the console she has herself wedged under, so her voice is muffled. “The thulite crystals we acquired are burning a bit slower than projections indicated, so I wanted to see if there was something different about the lattice structures that makes them more efficient.”

Catra understands... most of that, actually. Amazing what vocabulary you pick up after about a year of continuous exposure to this woman. 

“How are they...” Catra pauses, swallows, and tries again from a different direction. “When they found you... on Beast Island... were you okay?”

“Oh, not at all!” Entrapta chirps, peeking out to smile jarringly at her. “There are radio frequencies on Beast Island that alter the emotional state of any living being within its vicinity. I looked into the symptoms afterward we got back, since I didn’t have time to isolate the signal while we were there, but according to my research it simulates late-stage depression.”

Catra can’t suppress the snort.  _ “Depression? _ Beast Island is supposed to be a hellscape, and you’re telling me all it did was hurt your feelings?”

“Well, there was all the other stuff too,” Entrapta concedes. Catra sees sparks from her blowtorch. “There were all the razor-teeth, and razor-fins, and razor-everything-else, but they’re not too hard to keep at bay if you’re careful. But that’s what the depression effect is for. The island makes you not  _ want _ to survive.”

Something shudders in Catra’s chest, and her mouth clicks shut.

Heedless, Entrapta continues, “Honestly I didn’t even realize how bad it had gotten until I left. I just thought the signal wasn’t very strong, or didn’t affect me the same way because of my neurotype. It was only when I recovered a bit that I realized ‒” A loud  _ thunk _ sounds from the console’s guts, and Entrapta cheers. “Ha! Got it!”

The princess emerges holding her prize. Catra doesn’t see what it is, she’s too busy thinking about that final day in the Fright Zone ‒ screaming and destructive, every weakness torn wide open to face the daylight by Double Trouble, but even then she had wanted to  _ live. _

Hadn’t she?

“Are you... okay now?” she manages.

“Now? I’m  _ in a spaceship, _ I couldn’t be better!”

Catra stares at her.

Entrapta stares back, then a lightbulb clicks on. “Ohhh, this is an expression of concern, isn’t it?” she realizes. “Wow, that is so unlike you, Catra!”

Catra puts her head on her knees and groans.  _ I will not punch her, I will not punch her, I will not punch her, goddammit I’m  _ trying _ here! I don’t know how to do this! _

Entrapta takes her hand, and Catra looks up. “I’m ‒ glad you were worried,” Entrapta says haltingly, avoiding Catra’s gaze and looking very uncomfortable. “It makes me happy that you care.”

She waits until Catra tentatively smiles at her before grinning back and propelling herself out of the room at top speed.

Catra, a little bewildered, wonders if maybe no one actually knows how to do this.

‒ 

It’s not enough, though. Catra still has no idea what she’s even doing here. Adora can care about her in addition to others. Fine. Sounds fake but okay ‒ Catra can work with this assumption. 

Still doesn't explain why Adora came back for her. 

_ (catra still remembers she-ra's cold eyes, expression hard as granite, cast in shadow by the light of the collapsing portal.  _

_ she remembers thinking,  _ oh.

_ nothing else. no thought that, however many chances catra had remaining, this one just blew through all of them. _

_ just a distant feeling of unwelcome finality.) _

Bow's been on her tail a lot ‒ only once literally, which an improvement over Scorpia's sense of personal space, frankly. Catra can't tell if he's still suspicious of her or not. He’s doing something with the ship’s autopilot when Catra finally asks him, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. He makes a few stuttering sounds, the weird holograms around his arms flickering in unfamiliar ways, before settling on, “Why do you wanna know?”

She keeps her fists from clenching with considerable effort, strangling the frustrated shout before it could escape her throat. “Can you just ‒ just ‒ tell me? The truth? Whatever the truth is, don’t hold anything back. Please,” she adds, quiet as she can manage.

He gives her an oddly penetrating look that Catra instantly  _ hates, _ and then shrugs. “Honestly, I was just following Glimmer’s lead on this one.”

Catra doesn’t believe that for a second, and it must show on her face. “Sparkles  _ hates _ me, and for good reason.”

“Lots of good reasons,” Bow agrees. “But that wasn’t the point.”

“So what was?”

“Glimmer was against saving Entrapta, you know,” Bow continues as though he didn’t hear her. “From Beast Island, I mean. Our resources were spread too thin, and she didn’t want to waste any on a traitor who might not even help us.” 

He offers Catra a pointed look that speaks volumes. Catra feels pinned to the spot, throat bared for anyone who wants to take a swipe.

After a moment Bow swallows visibly and looks away first, fiddling with the holographic interface as he continues, “Back then we had the entire might of Bright Moon and the Princess Alliance, and she didn’t want to take the risk. She was wrong, of course, and I think she knows that now. People are worth saving no matter who they are.”

Catra isn’t sure she counts as a person anymore, if she ever did. She can’t stop herself from shaking, can’t stop Bow from  _ seeing _ her shake. He even tries to reach out to her, the utter  _ bastard, _ before realizing he knows better and pulling away again.

“Th-the point is,” Bow stammers. “She didn’t want to take a risk when she had all the power in the world. Now we’re out here with no magic, no She-Ra ‒”

“And nothing to gain by freeing me,” Catra whispers.

Bow waves the interface away and stands to face her. Catra  _ shakes _ as he approaches, unsure if it’s residual terror or simply guilt, and she hates how  _ weak _ it makes her feel, reduced to cowering before this idiot boy who clearly doesn’t know worthlessness when he sees it.

“Clearly we had  _ something _ to gain,” he says, infuriatingly gentle. “Glimmer was willing to put everything on the line because Adora wanted to save you. So I knew it had to be worth it.”

Catra can only shake her head in mute dissent before she gives in and  _ bolts. _

‒

There’s no way to avoid it, and frankly no reason to that isn’t pathetic, so Catra begins placing herself on the fringes of their existence, experimental, testing boundaries. Entrapta was fine, arguably her only actual friend in this ship ‒ that geek only knows how to be completely blunt, it's just how she is. If Entrapta said she forgave her, she meant it, no further questions needed. Catra would hover around her workplace, ask vague questions just to hear Entrapta happily fill the awkward silence. Bow is unfailingly kind, if a lot more careful with his words. He never avoids her, and Catra has to fight very hard to ignore the instinct to avoid him. Glimmer almost seems to  _ like _ her, which is... strange. Not bad, exactly, just unexpected.

Adora mostly just hovers anxiously around Catra, and Catra does her best to squash the hurt that brings.

Sleepless again, Catra loiters where she hopes people won’t find her. She ran into Wrong Hordak already ‒ she’s not sure he even  _ needs _ sleep ‒ but he never asks questions and is very easily distracted. Alone, Catra is free to panic, to completely lose her cool, to ‒ 

“Catra?”

She flinches, furious for being so lost that she couldn’t hear the approach, but can’t bring herself to snap about it. Glimmer, just like all of them, has seen Catra at her weakest already. There’s nothing left worth hiding.

Maybe there never was.

Glimmer shuffles over in her bare feet and loose sleep shirt and a blanket around her shoulders, eyes bleary. “Are you alright? It’s the middle of the night.”

Catra wants to scream. Instead she says, in as even a tone as she can, “It’s always night.”

She doesn’t look at Glimmer, doesn’t see her rolling her eyes even though she can imagine it. There’s a sigh, footsteps walking away. Catra unclenches, just a little.

“Do you want anything from the ‒” This time Catra can’t quite bite down on a shriek, and Glimmer trails off. “...kitchen?”

Utter panic can be indulged in in carefully timed doses, but once one starts, there’s really no stopping it. Hiding it, sometimes, but no stopping it. Catra says something on autopilot, a little unsure what it even is. She’s starting to feel detached from her body, floating away from the storm while it rages.

Then a blanket settles over her head like an umbrella.

Instead of floating away, Catra is slingshotted into one of her oldest memories, hiding in a blanket and interrupted by someone who had zero reason to care. A shaft of sunlight through the clouds.

“Here,” says Glimmer, matter-of-fact. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

...What the  _ fuck _ is going on?

It’s impossible to deny that they’re all going out of their way to be  _ nice _ to her. Catra had long gotten used to thinking of Glimmer and Bow (and whatever other princesses happened to be tagging along) as Adora's new unit. Being so blithely accepted into it feels  _ dangerous, _ like they know how broken she’s become and are broadcasting it for the world to see. Inviting destruction. It’s terrifying.

“Why are you all being so nice to me?”

Glimmer looks up from her rooting around in storage bins. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Catra gives her a flat look over where her arms rest atop her knees. “You really want me to give a full list?”

“I’ve already got one back in Bright Moon, so don’t worry about that.”

Catra flinches.

Glimmer’s eyebrows pinch together. “That, um. That was meant as a joke.”

“Oh.”

The queen sighs. “Look, if we all survive this, I’ve already got a community service project in mind that will take  _ literal _ years to complete, but‒”

_ “Community service? _ Seriously?”

“Well it’s already been established that being banished to the Crimson Wastes is not a punishment for you.”

“Sparkles, what the fuck.”

“What, you’d  _ rather _ be in a dungeon for the rest of your life?”

Catra bites back on a scream of  _ Yes! _ Yes, she wants to be paraded through the streets of Brightmoon, of Thaymore, of  _ Salineas, _ mocked and razzed at so she can bear up under it, forge herself in it, and turn hard and cold as diamond. She wants to be chastened, penalized, imprisoned, and she wants to rail against that imprisonment, to dodge the consequences of her actions with cunning and power found only through adversity. 

She wants  _ something, _ because then it will be done, and she won’t have to agonize over waiting for something worse.

Through gritted teeth, Catra grinds out, “Why even save me in the first place? It  _ can’t _ be because I helped you escape. We both know it was the one good thing I ever did in my life, and it wasn’t even for you.”

“No,” Glimmer agrees calmly. “It was for Adora, and Adora... doesn’t ask for things.”

Catra blinks, incredulous. “Sure she does.”

Glimmer shakes her head. “Not important things. She gets this way when ‒”

“You think you know Adora better than me?”

“I  _ think,” _ Glimmer says with a pointed, long-suffering glare, “that both of you have changed a lot in the time you’ve been apart.” She pauses. “But I also think this was something she’s had trouble with her whole life.”

“You don’t know  _ anything,” _ Catra insists, tail twitching restlessly as she gestures impulsively around her, claws tearing that  _ stupid _ blanket near to shreds. “I don’t know why I thought you would, but you just like  _ laughing _ at me, don’t you! I thought ‒”

“CATRA!” Glimmer catches one of her wrists as her panicked flailing gets out of control. Catra’s breaths are short and shallow, eyes pinned to narrow slits.  _ “You _ came to  _ me,” _ Glimmer says firmly. “Do you want to hear my answer or not?”

Catra reminds herself that she is physically much stronger than Glimmer. With magic out of the equation, Catra could protect herself easily. To prove it to herself she yanks her wrist out of her grip ‒ Glimmer lets her, but that doesn’t matter. It  _ doesn’t. _

_ (do it. _

_ just get it over with. _

_ looks like we’re both alone, sparkles.) _

It’s pathetic. But in a crazy way, Glimmer  _ does _ understand.

So Catra takes a breath, wraps what remains of the gifted blanket securely around her shoulders, and listens.

‒

_ “You promise?” _

‒

Adora gives. She gives and gives and gives. She serves. Above all, she protects ‒ even at the cost of her own life.

Adora  _ loves. _

And if Catra knows nothing else, it’s that love is finite.

If love is given to one person, that’s because it is taken from another. If Shadow Weaver took away her love from Catra and gave it to Adora instead, then that was okay, because Catra also gave her love to Adora, and Adora gave it back to her. Until she didn’t.

Adora is easy to love. So easy that, even while hating her, Catra never really stopped. Adora loving Catra was a different story.

It had to be.

Love was such a rare gem among the ceaseless misery of the Horde that seeing it as a precious resource to be coveted and stored was the only thing that made sense. Love is conditional. Love is finite. Love was something Adora was rich in and gave to Catra out of pity, then withdrew as soon as she came across something better. This was the scaffolding that Catra built her entire crusade on, the impetus to her self-destruction. If she wasn’t loved, she was worthless. If she was worthless, she wasn’t safe. Catra’s survival depended on being of use, but being of use to Adora just hurt too much. It was easier to hurt Adora back.

She’s still not of use to Adora. She’s a liability, betrayal and sabotage waiting to happen. Yet they saved her. For no reason other than because Adora wanted to.

Because Adora wanted to so badly that she couldn’t even bring herself to say it. 

There’s only one reason she  _ could _ have wanted to, after all this.

Catra paces back and forth across the hall outside Adora’s room, mind reeling as her entire world, so long held together with paper clips and spite, falls apart.

Adora is easy to love, and Catra can’t help loving her no matter how she tries to bury it, can’t help wanting Adora’s love in return. It’s foolish to openly want things in the Horde, to expose your soft belly and hope no one stabs it for a laugh. If Adora didn’t want to give Catra her love, then Catra couldn’t want it, and had to prove her indifference with every step.

All those moments Adora seemed so careless ‒ like beating Catra wasn’t something she needed to survive. All those times Adora won and then acted like it didn't matter. Winning  _ didn’t _ matter.

_ You matter to me! _

Catra's hand shoots up to cover the lower half of her face, shaking. 

And Adora had  _ said _ it, hadn’t she? Insisted it over and over, and it always felt like a lie because you don’t just  _ admit _ to something like that. 

_ Adora doesn’t ask for things. _

_ Lots of reasons, but that wasn’t the point. _

_ It wasn't until I'd recovered a bit that I realized... _

"Catra?"

She didn’t hear the door she’d been hovering by slide open, even now registers it only dimly. Adora behind it is worn, beaten down, always too restless to take care of her own needs. 

It’s a truth that shatters everything she assumed and mends everything that broke inside her the day Adora left. It finally makes sense to her. What Adora  _ does _ and what Adora  _ wants _ are, against all reason, entirely separate things.

And that makes all the difference.

"What're you doin up?" Adora mutters sleepily.

Forgiveness. Can you even imagine? Not that Catra hasn't done enough to completely void any wrongdoing on Adora's part a thousand times over. Catra forfeited the right to hold a grudge not long after it first formed. Any hurt she received all that long ago is vastly outweighed by the harm she dealt out in retaliation. Catra has no business forgiving anyone, but like most things in life, she does so anyway, without a second thought, because it's  _ easy. _

_ I forgive you, _ her heart sings. _ Adora, Adora, oh, Adora, I forgive you! _

At last.

"Hey, Adora," she says, far too late to seem natural. Her voice cracks, head tilted back as she turns and smiles in a way that fits her face better than a scowl or a sneer ever did, like a missing gear finally sliding into place. It's like joy, it's like sunrise, it's like the home she never dared wish for plopping itself at her feet and saying  _ you can rest now. _

Adora's saying something. Catra only catches the tail end of it while walking towards her like she’s in a dream. She takes that beloved face in gentle hands, intoxicating  _ relief _ buoying her heart on a bed of clouds. 

Adora’s eyes widen even as she sways incrementally closer, as though craving Catra’s touch but not allowing herself to hope. For the first time, Catra responds to that implicit want not by cracking a joke, not with the kind of touch that might be excused as roughhousing, but with gentleness, the immediate meeting of a need without Adora having to ask.

Catra draws Adora nearer until their foreheads meet. It feels  _ wonderful. _

And when Adora timidly lifts a hand to place it over Catra’s, holding her in place like she doesn’t want this quiet moment to end, Catra almost sobs.

She’s  _ wanted. _

“C’mon,” she says thickly. “Let’s get you in bed. You need to rest.”

“I...” Adora’s throat works as she moves her face reluctantly away, eyes trained on Catra like she’s desperate for contact. 

Catra adjusts her hand in Adora’s and squeezes.

“...Okay,” says Adora.

‒

_ Much later... _

"I was so sure I'd dreamt that, the next morning," Adora murmurs, drawing lazy shapes onto Catra's skin with a light finger, watching the short fur bend under her touch and then spring back into place.

Catra stretches with a yawn, shifting the duvet beneath them as she resettles in a tangle of limbs. "Not like I did much to disabuse you of the notion," she admits.

"'Course not, it was proof you liked me." Adora pokes her gently in the forehead, a mirror of Catra's old teasing gesture. "How embarrassing for you," she laughs.

It’s been years, and Catra’s finally at a point where she can admit it. “I finally realized that you still wanted me, even after everything,” she says softly. “That you never stopped, the same way I never stopped.” She pulls Adora’s errant hand in toward her heart. “I wish I had known long before then. You don't know what it would have meant to me to hear that.”

Adora shifts, propping her head up on her other hand and giving her a look. “Pretty sure I made it clear from the start.”

“Yeah, but that was...” Catra trails off, thinking. “It felt to me like you only wanted me  _ around _ , but didn't want me specifically. I wasn't most important to you. I couldn't have been, or else you never would have left. and if I couldn't be  _ most _ important, then... I wouldn't be anything.”

“That's...”

“Immature, I know. And after you left everything kept getting worse and worse, and it was easier to blame it all on you. Easier to be angry that you wouldn’t let me keep all of you than to be sad that I didn’t deserve it.” She breathes out, turning her face toward the ceiling and away from that piercing blue gaze. “I'm not saying it was right, I'm just saying the feeling was there. In the end I’d rather be just one star among millions than not in your sky at all. Just so long as you can find me when you look up.”

Then Catra squeaks as Adora grabs her firmly by the hips and nudges her in  _ very _ close, and presses a long, firm kiss to Catra’s lips.

When they part, Adora’s eyes are blazing. “You  _ never _ stopped being the first thing I thought of in the morning and the last thing I thought of before bed,” she says firmly. “Just because there are other people in my heart doesn't mean you don't have all of it. “

Catra lets out a throaty chuckle and nuzzles her face into Adora’s fine blonde hair. “And just because you have responsibilities doesn't mean you can't want things for yourself. It's not ‒” she screws up her face. “It's not healthy to put all of your identity into just one thing. Or person. Or ‒ whatever.”

A beat. “Did Perfuma say that?”

Catra’s face screws up into what she will vehemently deny was a sulk. “Perfuma says a lot of things,” she mutters.

Adora breathes a chuckle, then stills. Her hand stays over Catra’s heart, pressing lightly, feeling the vibrations of her purr rattle pleasantly up the bones of her hand.

“It’s just ‒ easier,” she says, softly, “to tell myself that it didn’t matter. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about how I’d act if I don’t get what I want or...” She visibly swallows, not meeting Catra’s eyes. “Or how it’d feel if I  _ did.” _

Catra lays her own hand over Adora’s. She’s said it a hundred times by now, and she’ll say it a thousand more. “What you want matters to  _ me.” _

Adora smiles haltingly, blinking as though caught in a lie. Catra knows that feeling very well, and waits for it to pass.

It  _ will _ pass. One day.

For now, every time Adora touches her is an exercise in pursuing what she wants. She pulls Catra’s head down, tucking her gently under her chin, and Catra curls up so that Adora can hold her more completely, more easily. 

“But Catra, listen,” Adora insists, pulling her in even closer. “You’re not just one star among millions, okay? You’re not.”

Catra inhales, counts Adora’s heartbeats, and breathes out. “What am I, then?”

Adora's smile is too radiant to be real, but here they are. “You’re the  _ sun.” _

A glowing warmth fills her, devours her, makes her  _ ache _ with the wonderful pain of blazing fire piercing the eyes of someone who has never known daylight. It’s harsh, it’s too much, but Catra makes room for it, trying to hold as much of this truth as she can bear because turning away is worse. 

It’s hard, keeping your heart open.

Some distant, rational part of Catra that isn’t completely overwhelmed thinks that she should probably retaliate against all of... all of  _ this. _ Push back against the too-gentle hands carding through her hair, flick Adora on the forehead in as close to an affectionate gesture as Catra can manage. Maybe call Adora a  _ simp _ ‒ that was a neat new word Bow picked up from who knows where, although Catra’s pretty sure he’s not using it right.

_ Tomorrow, _ she thinks as the warm haze saps her energy, tugging her eyelids shut. She’ll tease Adora for being a big softie tomorrow, under the morning sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you were thinking of leaving a comment, please know that I treasure every single one, whether it's a single emoticon, a copy-pasted line, a keysmash, or an entire novel of feelings. Your reactions, big or small, are what I write for.
> 
> Please be safe during the holidays. Love y'all!


End file.
